


i need more time

by Jacks8n



Series: jacks8n's overwatch canon au [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Deadlock McCree, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacks8n/pseuds/Jacks8n
Summary: Jesse tags along on a typical job and hears a man die.





	

Jesse stood by the front door in the living room, a hand on his holstered gun, trying not to let fear creep onto his face. Yellow light from the street washed through the blind in stripes, refracting off the stained carpet to give the entire room a sickly glow. The couch was old and worn, and the lamp on the table beside it was tacky. Both looked like they’d already been fixtures in two or three other homes for decades before ending up here.  
  
Beyond the arch at the other end of the room was the kitchen, too far away for light to reach. Inside, his boss was threatening the man they were visiting in violent tones.  
  
All Jesse had to do was stand guard at the front door and wait. That was all he had to do.  
  
Sweat beaded on his neck. His hands were clammy. A fan with peeling white paint tilted in the corner of the room beside the television, taunting him. Jesse doubted it would work that well.  
  
“I need more time,” said the guy who, Jesse noticed as his eyes darted around, probably hadn’t dusted since before the Crisis.  
  
“That doesn’t work for us,” said Wilson. Jesse could hear the sharky smile in his voice.  
  
“I-I just don’t have the money, alright?”  
  
There were family pictures on top of the empty china cabinet in the corner. Weddings, graduations, young kids. None of them had lived in that house for a very, very long time. Jesse fiddled with a zipper on his jacket.  
  
“That’s not my problem,” said Wilson.  
  
There were unwashed dishes beside the lamp, and a stack of dog-eared magazines on the couch. Jesse wondered if he could peek over and see what they were without being noticed.  
  
“Come back next week,” said the man.  
  
A stain in the corner of the ceiling hinted at a leak somewhere.  
  
“You’ve been saying that for three weeks now, pal,” said Wilson.  
  
Jesse heard the gun being pulled from its holster. The man gasped and Jesse heard him stumble backwards. His heart raced.  
  
**_BANG!_**  
  
Jesse’s hands shook and he fought to maintain even breathing. His ears rang, and his heart burned like acid. Wilson strolled out of the kitchen, sliding the handgun back under his arm.  
  
“Shame,” he said.  
  
Jesse gulped.  
  
“Go check upstairs for any jewelry or cash, ‘m gonna see if that truck’s worth taking.”  
  
Jesse had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Sure thing boss.”  
  
He deftly pulled out his small flashlight and took the stairs up two at a time. The rail wobbled and squeaked when he leaned on it.  
  
He stood at the top and took a deep breath. On the main floor, Wilson shoved open the door to the garage. It creaked closed behind him.  
  
Jesse let out an uneven sigh; guns were just really loud, that was all. He was fine.  
  
Upstairs were two bedrooms and the bathroom.  
  
One bedroom didn’t even have a bed anymore. Instead, there were piles and piles of boxes, old newspapers, and garbage. A chair with a broken leg was tipped over in the corner. The ceiling fan was home to cobwebs. A bookshelf held old CDs. Jesse skimmed over the titles and found that they were almost exclusively shitty ‘10s comedies.  
  
The closet in the room was stuffed with faded tutus and colourful kids clothes, usually with annoying graphics on the fronts. Jesse touched a sparkly tiara, all of the jewels on it made of colourful plastic. It tipped off the rack it had been balanced on and he pulled his hand back as though he had been burned as it fell to the floor. One of the sparkles was knocked off.  
  
“Sorry,” he whispered.  
  
The room made him sad in a way that was hard to describe.  
  
The other bedroom was an absolute disaster. Dishes and wrappers and pop cans were scattered across the floor. Dirty clothes were draped across every piece of furniture. Half the bed was taken up by a desktop computer. Jesse wrinkled his nose at the smell of the place; unfortunately, the window was jammed closed.  
  
He dug through the drawers of the dresser and found clothes for every season, including a winter they didn’t get in New Mexico. There was half a carton of forgotten cigarettes in one of them. Jesse pocketed those for another time.  
  
He found a gun under the bed, and what he guessed was probably $200 in rings and necklaces in a chest beside it. It wasn’t nearly what the guy had owed, but it would at least pay for the gas to drive down.  
  
The bathroom had peeling floral wallpaper and a crooked bathmat on the floor. The drawer under the sink was full of cleaning supplies, but other than that, basic toiletries, and a pot full of dry dirt on the window sill, it was empty.  
  
His search took long enough that by the time he was done, he no longer felt like his knees were going to give out on him. His hands had stopped their shaking, and the ringing in his ears was fading.  
  
He met Wilson back downstairs and passed over what he’d found. (Except for the cigarettes. He wanted those.)  
  
“Truck gonna work?” he asked.  
  
Wilson scoffed. His messy eyebrows bent together. “Ha, nah. Took a look under the hood and was surprised it was still kickin’. That thing’s more trouble than it’s worth.”  
  
Wilson breezed out the front door, leaving Jesse to close up. Jesse stood in the doorway, his hand on the knob. His heart twisted as he looked back into the dark house.  
  
“Bye,” he said. He thought about all the folks who’d ever lived in this home. They were on to better things than _here,_ he hoped. He wondered if any of them would notice the only one of them left in the falling apart house at the end of a cul-de-sac was dead.  
  
Suddenly, Jesse realized he hadn’t even known the guy’s name.  
  
“McCree!” shouted Wilson. “We don’t got all day.”  
  
“Yes boss,” said Jesse, closing the door swiftly. It wheezed shut.  
  
Jesse ran across the dirt lawn, grass only holding on in pockets, and hoped into the passenger’s seat. Wilson already had them moving before he closed the door.  
  
“Don’t like spending more time than we’ve got to,” said Wilson. Jesse pulled on his seatbelt as they sped away.  
  
Wilson turned on the radio and they listened to a country station. It was playing tedious, soulless songs, with just enough mention of trucks and preacher’s daughters to pass as “folksy”.  
  
Jesse watched out the window as they drove along. All of the houses on this end of town were as unfortunate as the one they’d just visited. The husks of old cars were piled on front lawns, and basketball nets missing any net stood in the driveways. Jesse caught glimpses of television screens aglow in some of the houses.  
  
They moved on, driving past strip malls, gas stations, and fast food restaurants. Then it was through another neighborhood as poor as the last. After a while, Jesse stopped looking at the houses and counted street lamps instead. Twenty minutes and an industrial district with winding roads and back alleys later, they were finally escaping the city.  
  
“What was that guy’s name, anyway?” asked Jesse in the pause between songs.  
  
Wilson side-eyed him, one hand on the wheel, the other in his pocket. “Does it matter?” he asked.  
  
Jesse shrugged.  
  
Wilson licked his front teeth, seeming to debate whether or not telling Jesse would do any harm. Eventually he scrunched his nose and nodded. “Eh. Grant.”  
  
Jesse bobbed his head in response and returned to staring out the window. The town was shrinking behind them now in the side mirror.  
  
Jesse watched the horizon and thought a quiet prayer for Grant as the first hints of dawn began to lift away the shroud of night from the endless sea of dust.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are much appreciated.


End file.
